


The Lake Disappointment Tripper

by words_of_a_broken_man



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: #Australian AU, #bedannibal, #electric-couple, #humour, #outback AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_of_a_broken_man/pseuds/words_of_a_broken_man
Summary: Country Sarge Jack Crawford joins the dots between a disoriented shearer and a spate of underwear thefts.Australian bush AU, which doesn't seem to be a trope anywhere, but I feel it should be.  It's not sexy, it's not supposed to be.  Please take it in the spirit it was written (It's a joke, not an entry for the Pulitzer.)  If any non-Australian can identify and define every ridiculous colloquialism in this, I will write you the fic of your choice.I would like to say we don't really speak like this down here, but unfortunately there's a unique subset of people who do...





	The Lake Disappointment Tripper

“G’day there, Doc.” Jack Crawford dropped himself onto a stool. “Pint a’ super, thanks love.” He nodded at the barmaid, who regarded him with disdain as he dropped his police cap onto the bar. “What you havin, mate?”

“Same’s fine, Crawfs.” Hannibal Lecter nodded catching the barmaid’s eye with his usual roguish grin. “Mate. The Impy’s no copper’s pub. What brings you this side of the tracks?”

Crawford gulped down his beer, draining half the pint in a single draw.

“Jeez, she’s hot out.” Crawford dropped his beer glass onto the bar with an audible thud. “Yeah, look mate. I know I’m way out me tree round this neck of the woods, but chasing a sneaky favour.”

“Orrite. Shoot then.” Hannibal fussed with his Akubra and the position of his glass on the bar absently. Wasn’t often the local Sarge came to him looking for anything more than a tetanus shot.

“Whaddya know ‘bout that kid Graham?” Crawford helped himself to a fist full of peanuts off the bar, crunching away as he awaited a response.

“Graham who?” Hannibal shot him a skeptical look.

“Bill Graham.” Crawford continued. “That young bloke old mate Jeffries has helping him out with the shearing.”

“Yeah, look not much Crawfs.” Hannibal shrugged. “Heard a couple a things from a few of the lads down the bowlo, bit of a strange cat from what I’ve heard, better with his dog than any of the damn ewes.”

“Strange alright, Doc.” Crawford finished his beer. “Had Smithy on the blower this morning telling me the crazy bastard rocked up at the servo in some sheila’s derps at bloody sparrow’s fart. Reckons he was totally off his tree, didn’t know whether he was Arthur or Martha.”

“Fair dinkum?” Hannibal looked at him quizzically.

“Yeah, mate. Long gone by the time I rocked in, but Smithy got a couple good shots on his iphone.” Crawford pulled out his phone. “Jeez, where is it?” He muttered to himself as he swiped away. “Oh shit, not that one.”

“Whatcha got there, mate?” Hannibal leaned over, looking at the screen.

“Shit mate. You gotta warn a bloke!” Hannibal recoiled as he caught sight of a nude Crawford flexing in his bathroom mirror. “I don’t need an eyeful of your old fella!”  
  
“Jeez, Hanno. That one’s for the missus!” Crawford snatched his phone away from Hannibal’s prying eyes. “Ya don’t take a squiz at another bloke’s phone unless he allows it, mate!”

“Just show me the photos of this bloody weirdo then.”

“Orrite, orrite.” Crawford fussed with his phone, he paused waving his empty glass at the barmaid. “You right there, love? Man’s not a camel.”

“Fuckn pigs.” The barmaid muttered under her breath as she pulled the sarge another pot of super.

“Sorry, love. Missed that?”

“I said, nice rig.” The barmaid winked at Hannibal, who ducked, hiding his smile behind another mouthful of beer.

“Here, Hanno.” Crawford slid his phone across the bar towards Lecter. “Check this bloody weirdo out on the CCTV. And don’t start swiping through me damn photos!”

Hannibal watched the sketchy video clip; a lean bloke in his thirties clad in lace panties and Blunnos flicking through the Tele, grabbing an iced coffee and pie then wandering out.

“Jeez, Crawf.” Hannibal chuckled. “Where d’ya reckon he keeps his loose change?”

“Fark, mate!” Crawford laughed. “Up his damn clacker for all I know! You sure he hasn’t checked in with you for anything?”

“Yeah, look mate. Certainly seems like the bloke’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic.” Hannibal offered. “Doesn’t look familiar though.”

“You sure, mate? Crawford pocketed his phone. “I was havin’ a yarn to Chilts’ after smoko at the tuck shop and he reckons you’ve been looking after him for some headaches? Said something about sleepwalking or some shit?”

“Yeah, of course. Will.” Hannibal laughed. “Didn’t recognize him without his kit on.”

“So you do know him?”

“Yeah, Jeffries called me out to check him over. Said he kept finding him out the back paddock at all hours.”

“Is he crook or something?” Crawford asked, finishing his second pot.

“He’s from Geelong, mate.” Hannibal finished his beer. He grabbed his hat from the bar and stood to leave. “Change in barometric pressure’s upset his ears and messed with his sleep. I’ve given him something that should even it out.”

“Macca reckons his Missus is losing washing off her line, Hanno.” Crawford stood, following Hannibal toward the pub door. “Reckons someone’s nicking her derps.”

“Crawf, I reckon Mrs McDonald is flattering herself.” Hannibal laughed dismissively.

“You might wanna give Billy boy a heads up.” Crawford pulled his cap down to his eyes. “I won’t put up with snowdroppers in this town.”

“Bill’s harmless, Crawf.”

"Hanno, mate."  Jack sighed.  "I've got half the women in this damn town riding me arse about missing bloody panties.  Half of them are too scared to hang out their washing.  If your boy's my panty thief, he's going down."

 

***

 

Hannibal stopped at the local nursing home on his way out of town, a pair of red lace panties scrunched tightly in one hand. He strode through the carpark seeking his target… A green XR6 Falcon, custom license plates CHILTZ01.

He lifted the windscreen wiper, tucking the panties underneath. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a second pair of panties and stuffing them through a gap in the drivers’ side window and into the car.

“Useless bloody twat Chilton.” He muttered under his breath, pulling out his phone.

“Lake Disappointment Police.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Hannibal cleared his throat, dropping his voice an extra octave. “I’ve just been visiting my mother at the Duchess of Cornwall home and come across a suspicious vehicle.” 

“Can you describe it, sir?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Hannibal pushed another pair of panties through the gap in the window, followed by a bra. “It’s a green Ford Falcon with custom plates. The contents of which are, disturbing.”

 

***

 

“I’m a little conflicted, love.” Hannibal settled himself down on the couch.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, big fella?” Lady Bedelia du Maurier, heireress to de Du Maurier cattle fortune cracked a bottle of red, splashing a measure into a glass and slipping it into his hand.

“What’s this?”

“Penfolds St Henri.”

“Ooo. Fancy.”

“So tell me, what’s got your jimmies rustled, Hannibal?” Bedelia asked, sitting down beside him, one leg tucked elegantly beneath her.

“You remember that young bloke I was telling you about?” Hannibal began. “The sleepwalker?”

“Oh yeah. The shearer. Little bit special that one.”

“You know how I said I was having a little bit of fun with him…”

“Yeah, you wrote him up for Stilnox. Not the best solution for sleepwalking.” Bedelia arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

“Your talents are wasted out here on the station.” Hannibal smiled appreciatively.

“Quit stalling.”

“Well, I bumped into Sergeant Crawford at the Impy…" 

“What have you done this time?” She sighed. “Spit it out, Hannibal.”

“Apparently young Bill’s been turning up off his chops clad women’s knickers in all sorts of spots.” Hannibal sipped his shiraz. “Cracking drop this.”

“Don’t change the subject.” 

“Crawfs reckons he’s been snowdropping. Bob McDonald’s wife’s filed a missing panties report.”

“Missing panties?” Bedelia’s gaze narrowed.

“Apparently the town is being held to ransom by a mysterious panty thief…”

“Hannibal!”

“Geez, love. I’m not the one nicking them!”

“Continue.” Bedelia glared at him. “With the truth, or you can sleep in the wool shed with Spud and Digger.” She swatted at his biceps in mock exasperation.

“So you know how the Hobbes girl goes out and cooks for old Jeffries on Tuesdays?”

“I’m not up to date with town gossip, but continue.”

“Well, I might have been slipping her some mushrooms for her beef strog.”

“Geez you’re a dickhead sometimes.” Bedelia snorted in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. “So the poor bastard’s wandering around every Tuesday night tripping balls?”

“Well, he's not tripping over them at least…” Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “How many pairs of knickers are you missing?”

“Three.” Bedelia frowned. “And a bra.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Lake Disappointment is an actual place.  
> \- If any non-Australian individual can correctly define and identify every ridiculous colloquialism, I'll write you the fic of your choice.  
> -This would comfortably make the front page of every local paper in Australia.


End file.
